"Forgive, rogue! you struck him that was feebler than a child; and you----By heaven! if you have touched that girl but rudely, you were better fling you into the river, than await the thanks in store for you." "A pest upon girls, and the devil take the whole sex!" said Sterling, devoutly. "Peace! and get you to your horse." "Ay, presently," replied Sterling; and as Oran leaped on his own black steed, Catherine having been already lifted to the saddle, he pulled a pistol from his bosom, and aimed it at the unsuspecting outlaw. Oran Gilbert bounded forward, and Sterling lowered his hand. "A miss were certain death," he muttered, "and the shadow was on the moon. '_Sessa_, let the world slide'--to-morrow comes after to-day, and the longer we fast the richer the feast. 'Nor shall we miss to have the bliss Good ale'---- Good ale? good devils!---- 'Nor shall we miss to have the bliss Good _blood_ doth bring men to!'-- Now were White Surrey but visible, I should know what to do: but the beast lifted up his heels, and was gone a-larking the moment I dismounted.----And these dogs have left me to shift for myself, without even a horse to help me! Wisdom is at as low an ebb among them as gratitude. Necessity and vengeance harp on the same string. Fare thee well, Oran the Hawk; but fly as high and as wildly as thou wilt, I see the little bee-bird that shall bring thee to the ground, bleeding." With these words, he sat down upon a stone, and there remained until the tramp of the retreating horsemen was no longer brought to his ear. CHAPTER X. If you have ears that will be pierced, or eyes That can be open'd, a heart that may be touch'd, Or any part that yet sounds man about you; If you have touch of holy saints or heaven, Do me the grace to let me 'scape: If not, Be bountiful, and kill me. You do know, I am a creature hither ill betray'd By one whose shame I would forget it were. BEN JONSON--_Volpone, or the Fox_. Catherine was now so far recovered as to be able to comprehend her situation in full; and although Hyland Gilbert rode at her side, thus assuring her of protection from all further rudeness, her terrors increased, and were mingled with the most insupportable anguish of spirit. It was in vain that he conjured her to be composed, and vainer yet when he sought to pacify her by expressions indicative of affection and tenderness. "Take me to my father, Herman," she cried, clasping her hands, and even endeavouring to grasp his own. "Oh, take me but back, and I will forgive you--I will forgive all!" "Be composed, Catherine, I entreat you"---- But her only answer was, "My father! my poor father!" "You shall see him, Catherine. I take you not from him, but from Henry Falconer."